


and i'll paint you a clear blue sky

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Barista!Niall, Homosexuality, M/M, Sex, harry's just confused throughout this, writer!harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 11:06:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9068905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “Alive.” Niall says one night when they’re laying in bed and watching a bird documentary on TV.Harry turns around in confusion to look at Niall, and raises an eyebrow at the now chuckling lad.“You wrote down that fictional characters are people we want to be, but are too afraid to be or just aren’t.”“Yeah.” Harry breathes out, wants to reach out and touch Niall’s face, which looks calm under the light of the TV, realizes he isn't even a tad bit mad of the fact that Niall was peering into Harry's book while he was writing in it, doesn't mind if he did it later on either.“If I were to write a fictional character, I’d want them to feel alive.”





	

 

When Harry was eleven, he began to realize he wasn’t quite like the others.

He didn’t like when people urged him to kiss girls or when they told him he was going to get a lovely girlfriend and have a wonderful wife with two children – thoughts like that just didn’t settle with him quite well.

In his head, delicate hands looked more tough and dirty, long hair was preferred to be shorter, and petite and slightly more curvy bodies were replaced with burlier, more boyish bodies. The year 2013 had become more accepting and open to what Harry felt, so there wasn’t a question as to where Harry has first heard of the term ‘homosexual’ either, and frankly – it wasn’t a term he minded. Not one bit.

So when he was eleven turning twelve, and felt his tummy burst with tons of butterflies and made the apples of his cheeks red with affection when a boy in class would compliment him or hold his hand during P.E, he decided that he was gay, and moved on.

 

+

 

_Alexithymia_

_Inability to describe emotions verbally._

When Harry was 16, he realized he was more of a questioner than a wanderer.

He didn’t yearn to know the answers to questions, just yearned to question the not obvious, or to write it down in a series of quotes in a ruined-looking leather journal.

He always loved the feel of leather journals, ever since he heard the way the sounded when you opened and closed them, just a sound that simple making it seemed like it held all the wonders of the world in it. Someone’s thoughts, and emotions were all jotted down in a mess of leather and paper and Harry sometimes finds it amusing how people can trust an inanimate object over a human being, how much humanity has lost trust in each other so far as to believing in a pen to keep their secrets for them.

But it’s not like Harry says anything, because he too is one of those people, but for all the different reasons.

“That looks quite interesting, if I don’t sound too creepy.” A voice calls, and Harry looks up to greet a kind boy (he doesn’t know what to call guys his age) with kind eyes that seem to tell a story, and want to be a part of his, so Harry lets them.

Nicholas Grimshaw happened to be only a couple of months his senior and like sports and the idea of parallel universes, and his eyes made Harry feel like the parallel universes were exploding inside him with every jagged breath he took, and with every word he spoke. Harry didn’t ever believe in soulmates, but he believed in Nick.

Harry drums his fingers on the leather covering of his book, still loving the sound it creates after all those years, - doesn’t ever think he’ll stop loving it - really.

Nick asks Harry out just when he’s about to leave the small coffee shop he’s sat in. Harry smiles and gives him a satisfactory ‘yes’.

Harry doesn’t reckon any of those parallel universes are in the same place he is in now.

 

+

 

Nick was having a cold drink on a warm summer’s day. Refreshing, is how Harry would put it if you ever asked him.

Nick liked to dress up in short-sleeved shirts and skinny jeans and sneakers that looked almost as worn out and ugly as Harry’s journal and Harry loved it, loved the aura he emitted when he walked or spoke or laughed, and it was safe to say that Harry was downright smitten with the man that was Nick Grimshaw.

Nick worked part – time at the garage downtown, and afforded just enough money to be able to fend for himself (and Harry too, when he needed/wanted to). Nick was everything Harry felt he had waited for, everything he felt he finally deserved.

“You’re amazing, y’know?” Nick told him one night when they laid curled up on his pale blue bedding, legs tangled and breathes mingling and eyes fighting to stay open so they can see each other for longer, “And I’d like to show you the world, if you’d let me.”

Harry wonders how Nick manages to take his breath away, everytime. Reckons there’s no words to describe what he’s feeling so he can jot it down in a 16 worded sentence, not really.

 

+

 

It’s when they’re at the pub for the third time that everything starts to go downhill.

They’re all hanging out by the bar, and the room reeks of alcohol and sweaty men and cigarettes, and Nick’s just introduced Harry to two of his best mates – Louis and Zayn – and they’re taking quick gulps of their glasses of beer while making small talk with Harry and Harry just really doesn’t feel like he belongs here, would rather sit in the confines of his vanilla and cinnamon scented room with a dim light over his journal and a window to gaze out of and just wonder and listen and observe.

Hell, he’s not even allowed to drink.

(Neither is Nick, but in all honesty he looks old enough to pass off as an adult, and Harry’s chubbiness on the apples of his cheeks haven’t exactly gone yet.)

“So, Harry, this your first time in a pub?” Louis quips, and his voice is rather shrill, but not to the point where it’s annoying, no, it’s more calming, rather. He offers Harry a warm smile as he runs his thumb up and down smoothly on his glass of beer. Harry offers a sheepish smile and nods, scanning his surroundings for Nick just so he can politely ask if they can leave because the smoke in the room is kind of getting to him and it’s not exactly a feeling he completely enjoys.

“It doesn’t really look like you’re enjoying yourself, mate.” He offers, and it’s then that Harry opens his mouth and says, “Because I’m really not.”

“That’s just because you aren’t allowed to drink yet.”

Harry mentally shakes his head and thinks that _‘that’s not it’_ and realizes that Zayn’s gone missing.

“Where’d Zayn go off to?” Harry blurts out, turning red after realizing that he probably spoke too loud, but then remembers how loud the pub actually is, and releases a breath.

“Pretty sure he’s gone to go find a new chick for the night.” Louis shrugs and wow, that wasn’t what Harry was expecting. Harry’s never really thought about sex, not with Nick, not with anyone else. Just the whole idea of it made him uncomfortable ever since he knew what is was, “Ya seem pretty surprised by that, H.”

Harry chuckles nervously and runs a hand through his hair and, “Yeah, it’s just never been my thing s’all, y’know, sex.”

Louis puts his pint aside and moves his feathery brunet hair out of his bright blue eyes and gives Harry a sort of lazy smile, and Harry’s pretty sure it’s partly because he’s being kind and because he’s already sipping at his fourth pint for the night, “Really? Thought sex was for everyone, if I’m being honest.”

“Yeah, well, dunno. Haven’t really wanted it before – I guess. Might want it with Nick later on, if we’re still going strong.” And it should feel weird, voicing out your thoughts to some guy who you just met, who also happens to be your boyfriend’s best friend and could tell him everything he’s being told right now with nothing to lose.

“So you’ve never gotten off to Nick?” Louis’s eyes widen lightly, and there’s a yell from the corner of the pub, and he prays that Louis turns around and is drunk enough to forget what he just asked (he doesn’t).

“W-what? Course I have.” Harry bites his cheek to keep himself from drawing out the lie, knows Louis can’t notice with how dark the room is. There’s a sudden feeling of guilt pooling in his stomach – are all guys supposed to get off to their boyfriends? Is Harry a bad boyfriend if he’s never done it?

Does Nick get himself off to Harry? Harry visibly shudders at the thought.

Louis just nods and they change the topic quickly, almost like it never came up, though the thought of jerking himself off to his boyfriend never escapes Harry’s mind.

 

+

 

Harry’s sitting in a warm bath with the door locked twice – because Harry’s just always been that safe – and he’s looked up ‘male masturbation’ on his phone, desperate to know what it is that gets guys off, wants to know why so many people are able to do it but he isn’t.

He’s quick to look through almost every website, desperate to just finish it off and get it done with, so he doesn’t feel guilty for not doing what most guys do when they like someone.

He reads up on points where he can feel the most stimulated, how he can make his orgasm more intense, and even how to use a dildo. A couple websites suggested using porn to start him off, so that’s exactly what he does, opens up a website and looks under the ‘gay’ tag and clicks on a video in which there’s a guy dressed in lace and another one completely dressed in casuals. Harry turns on the water and hits play.

The video starts off with the boy in the lace sitting down patiently on a white bed, and Harry can already tell he’s heavily turned on, and himself hold onto the base of his still flaccid cock, hoping the video with bring a reaction out of him as it plays on.

The guy in casuals comes up to him and slowly massages his ass, earning a purr out of the much smaller boy, his fingers slowly grabbing the red silk panties before pulling them off, and the now bare boy gets on his hands and knees and holds his ass out, patiently waiting for the other guy to get undressed and lubed up.

Harry doesn’t seem to be getting anything out of this, and feels like he must be doing something wrong, so he slowly moves his hand up and down and up and down and –

Nothing.

He tires for a couple more minutes but even though the man in casuals (he is no longer dressed in casuals – or dressed at all, for that matter) is deep into the moaning bottom Harry realizes he’s spent more time wondering if the two of them are in love or not rather than getting off, feels he doesn’t like having his hand around his dick either.

He reckons he might like it when Nick does it though, so he stops all the moaning and groaning coming out his speakers and lathers himself in citrus scented soap instead.

 

+

 

They’re now eight months into their relationship when Nick brings up the topic of sex, when Harry’s heart comes to a sudden stop.

“Haz, love, it’s been eight months, and I didn’t want to bring this up because I wanted you to be ready for it but like, do you want to have sex? O-or make love, or whatever you’ve called it in that pretty journal of yours.”

Harry blushes but his mind keeps yelling _thisisoyourchancethisisyourhcancethisisyourchance_ and Harry hasn’t ever been much of a risk taker so he decides to take one now and nods his head and smiles, nuzzling into Nick’s neck.

“Yes you bastard, take me to your room.”

It’s safe to say that the only thing staining the bedsheets were Harry’s tears that night.

 

+

 

When Harry’s halfway through seventeen he knows that he isn’t the only one bored of the relationship him and Nick have, knows that his confusion and lack of being able to explain emotions verbally has affected their relationship immensely, but he doesn’t feel bad for it, although he probably should.

He’s tried to masturbate quite a few times Nick and him ‘had sex’, but can’t stand the alien and unpleasant feeling he gets when he wraps his hand around his cock, wonders how exactly other men enjoy it, wants to enjoy it desperately but just can’t.

He turns on his phone one night when he’s tired of trying to touch himself time and time again only to feel absolutely nothing, and types in _Why don’t I feel any pleasure while masturbating?_

The first result states that he has a low sex-drive, which only shows when he’s with someone he really likes. Harry rules out that option because he was so close to falling in love with Nick but having sex with him made him feel nothing, didn’t make what they had any more special.

The next option suggest that he isn’t doing it the right way; he rules that one out to, because he’s tried fast and slow and soft and hard and has tried fingering himself but it just didn’t get him going the certain type of way everyone else happened to feel when they did it. He throws this option to the back of his mind, hoping it stays there.

The third option states that he may be asexual. Harry had heard of the term before, but never actually got to know what it meant, so he opens up a new tab and types in the word _‘asexuality’_ and presses on the small magnifying glass right next to the search bar.

Harry looks up the different types of asexuality, his mind actually running wild with how many different people there are in this world, and how inferior he probably is compared to them.

He scrolls and scrolls and clicks and types until finally one word captures his attention.

 _Homoromantic_.

He scrolls down a bit more till he finds a definition for the term, which reads:

_Attracted to the same sex in a romantic way, but not necessarily in a sexual way. Often used by_ _[asexuals](http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=asexuals) _ _._

He thinks back to all those times Nick’s kisses made fireworks set off in the very pit of his tummy, or when he yearned for Nick to hold him and kiss him until his lips were numb and Harry’s body burned with the warmth of them.

He thinks back to the time when he tried to get off and thought about if the two people loved each other, or if they were just a simple fuck for the camera. He remembers smiling when he saw a guy with a ring on the ring finger of his left hand in one porno, smiled when he realized the guy beneath probably had a matching ring too.

He smiles to himself in the present and thinks that maybe he finally fits in after all.

 

+

 

Harry meets Niall when he’s just two months short to twenty-one years old, and when Nick Grimshaw with the kind eyes and short shirts is just a memory , carved into words and written onto parchments of paper.

Niall is twenty-two (and a half, but Harry doesn’t really count it), and his eyes are just as blue as the sky and the sky has droplets of yellow from the morning sun and he can see the ocean and sky and a vast area of possibilities just with one glance and when Niall smiles Harry kind of wants to keep him close forever.

But Niall’s twenty-two and a half and he works in a café in the north of London and Harry lives all the way in the south, and Harry really wishes he could leave everything just to be able to walk by and see him every morning because right now Niall is the sun and what’s the point of the morn if the sun’s not there to brighten it?

So Harry drives up north more often to see the boy who looks like the climax of his story, the part that intrigues everyone the most and makes them want to know more and more and more, and Harry reckons he’s already in love.

They get closer and closer and when Harry gives Niall his number Niall doesn’t blush or shy away and instead hands his phone out to Harry so he can put it in himself.

It’s a never-ending cycle and Harry really doesn’t know if Niall’s ready to fall in love with a man who can only love with his heart because he doesn’t want to love with anything else.

 

+

 

_I think fictional characters are written based on people we want to be, but are either afraid, or truly can’t be the way they are._

 

“Is that a journal you’ve got there?”

Harry jerks to face Niall and slowly nods, about to close it when-

“I used to have one too, lost it when I went t’ Paris with me mates. Literally had my whole life in there, though I’m not that great with writing, more of a speaker if I do say so myself.”

Harry smiles and his chest bursts with little jolts of warmth. A person who can’t describe emotions verbally and a person who can’t describe them while writing. It’s messed up but somehow Harry feels like it’s just perfect.”

 

+

 

“Alive.” Niall says one night when they’re laying in bed and watching a bird documentary on TV.

Harry turns around in confusion to look at Niall, and raises an eyebrow at the now chuckling lad.

“You wrote down that fictional characters are people we want to be, but are too afraid to be or just aren’t.”

“Yeah.” Harry breathes out, wants to reach out and touch Niall’s face, which looks calm under the light of the TV, realizes he isn't even a tad bit mad of the fact that Niall was peering into Harry's book while he was writing in it, doesn't mind if he did it later on either.

“If I were to write a fictional character, I’d want them to feel alive.”

 

+

 

Harry tells Niall he’s homoromantic a month after endless pining and wondering if there’s anything that can outshine the stars in Niall’s eyes and Niall simply shrugs and says, “Never had the want for sex meself, reckon I wouldn’t mind dating an asexual.”

Harry’s pretty sure he passes out right after he says that.

 

+

 

They kiss on their second date, and Harry holds Niall closer to keep him warm in the freezing cold, and cups his warm cheeks in his cold hands and it makes Niall shiver in a good way, and every poem or quote or sonnet he’s written about love is bursting to life and beating inside him, and they’re everywhere and they feel _good_ , and maybe Nick’s eyes did look like a promise but Niall is a promise and like his mother always said, promises are always meant to be kept.

 

Harry doesn’t plan on breaking this one anytime soon.

 

+

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and feedback would greatly be appreciated :D x


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